Xue Xing Ai Qing Gu Shi (血腥愛情故事)

The sweetness you tasted is just the fruit of loneliness.

That is me, cut alive from the heart.

A piece of flesh like a gift, never thought through.

You are sharp; I am the blood rain, writing profusely.

Let me follow you closely in every twist and turn.

Let me write you a horror novel.

Who is suspicious, who is pitiful, who is innocent, who survives?

I have already seen the final outcome.

Let me take your place to carry on the past and inspire the future.

A heart-wrenching experience, like a love novel.

The more blood flows, the more my hands ache, the emptier my heart, the more my flesh hurts.

A love that is tortured and scarred feels more alive.

Don't return it to me, don't return it to me.

It’s too late to grasp it again.

The connection of flesh in my palm has long been useless.

I can only watch the empty shell that has lost its soul.

Two people without souls.

It’s too much to write more.

No matter how intense the story is, it is still too cliché.

Where it ends should just be fine.

So we can live and die wanting more.

Love also needs to live and die wanting more.

Let me closely follow you in your narrative.

Let me write you a horror novel.

Who is suspicious, who is pitiful, who is innocent, who struggles to survive?

I have already seen the final outcome.

Let me take your place to carry on the past and inspire the future.

A heart-wrenching experience, like a love novel.

The more blood flows, the more my hands ache, the emptier my heart, the more my flesh hurts.

A love that is tortured and scarred feels more alive.